Breaking Point
by Sparky Dorian
Summary: Twoshot set not too long after episode 2x1. Neal hears some rumors he doesn't like floating around the bureau. When he tries to take action, things don't go as he planned. Mild whumpage, spoilers for up to Withdrawal.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This one sprung outta nowhere. I hope you guys like it, for some reason I wasn't as happy with it. I'd love concrit, and to hear what you enjoyed. Thanks! A heads-up: I'm going to camp this week, but next weekend you guys can start looking for the Across the Board sequel._

Neal Caffrey slid his arms back into his suit jacket as he walked down the hall toward the FBI elevator. Glancing around, he wondered at how the different divisions of the FBI could be so similar yet so different at the same time. He reached the elevator just as a load of agents went down. Letting out a slightly tired sigh, he waited. In his peripheral vision he saw cluster of four agents standing in the nearest doorway. He recognized three of them, but not the other.

"Do you see _him_?" An agent named Rolland said. "That's _Neal Caffrey._" Neal felt his shoulders stiffen just slightly, controlling any other reactions only through practice.

"We know that," the rookie agent he'd recognized as Ian Jensen said disdainfully. "How could we not, with all the controversial crap he's got circulating through the bureau?" For a moment, Neal entertained the idea that they were unaware that he could hear them, but their tone and volume levels suggested otherwise.

"Pretty disgusting, huh?" Another rookie named Hall commented. "How he just charmed his way out of jail and back here? He should be serving a life sentence for murder."

"Murder?" Rolland repeated. "You mean the girlfriend? But they didn't prove anything, did they?"

"No," Jensen said with a sharper edge to his tone. "But everyone knows he did it, blew her up while he was trying to run." Neal bit down in the inside of his cheek. He forced himself to picture Peter's face in his mind; what the agent would say if Neal took action here. Even then it was hard to remain still.

"It's really no great loss though, is it?" Hall asked. "She was a criminal, just like he is. One more thief out of our hair. The only thing that bothers me is that he got away with it."

"For _now_," Rolland reminded them. "I heard at least _some_ of the higher-ups feel the same way we do. Hopefully they take action."

"It's a disgrace to the bureau," Jensen said. "Having him here. He's got the whole White Collar Division under his charm."

"Especially his so-called _handler_," the fourth man finally spoke. "His judgement is compromised."

"It's a joke," Jensen agreed.

Finally, _finally, _the elevator came. Neal could feel the blatantly hostile glares boring into his back as he waited for the doors to close before turning around. He pressed the ground floor button, leaning his head against the side of the elevator and letting out a breath. He tasted blood and realized he'd been biting his cheek hard.

_I hope you're proud of me for that, Peter,_ Neal thought to himself, knowing it was absurd as Peter hadn't even been there.

It wasn't like that was the first time he'd been insulted while he'd been with the FBI. It wasn't even the first time some of those agents had been the perpetrators. But they'd brought Kate into it this time, and spoken of her with such open disdain... And they really thought he'd killed her. They'd said bad things about Peter, too. He was torn between feeling like a traitor for not standing up against their lies, feeling accomplished for _not_ doing so, and just being plain angry.

Mostly, though, there were just sharp shards of pain stabbing through his chest. His eyes stung faintly, and he closed them. Once he had, he wished to take the action back. The flashback started again, so real he could hear the explosion and feel the heat on his skin and the desperation in his heart all over again. His hands shook as the memory ended, and he shoved them into his pockets to hide it. The metal doors slid open and Neal walked out, smiling and looking for all the world like he hadn't a care. He strode into the dark New York night, alone behind his cheerful facade.

xxxxx

The next morning, Peter Burke arrived at the FBI office to find Neal already there and working. This had become increasingly common lately, and Peter didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

He settled on both. He was relieved because it meant he knew Neal was relatively safe here, and worried because of the way Neal was obviously trying to avoid confronting his problems.

Not that Peter would've been all to eager to confront them in Neal's place. He probably would've been just the same. Probably worse.

"Morning, Sunshine," Peter said, sitting down behind his desk.

"Morning, Peter."

"How'd you get in to my office? I locked it last night."

"Really? It was unlocked when I tried it."

"...right." Peter rolled his eyes with slight amusement, switching on his computer. "I'm sure that's how it happened. The door _happened_ to unlock itself right before you tried opening it." No response. Peter looked up at his consultant and saw the man apparently lost in thought, his expression troubled and holding hints of anger and guilt.

"Neal?" Peter asked. Neal jolted out of his reverie and flashed Peter a grin.

"Yeah?"

"What's up?"

Neal gave him a look of innocence. "Just reading through these cold cases you gave me."

"Sure," Peter said, rolling his eyes slightly. "But seriously, Neal..."

"I'm fine, Peter," the conman insisted. Peter could see a mixture of emotions in his eyes. Peter nodded slowly.

"If you say so."

"I do," Neal said cheerfully, relief clear in his voice. Peter had to resist the urge to reach out and shake Neal by the shoulders. When was the kid going to get it through his head that he didn't have to do everything alone?

"So, what did you think about this one?" Peter asked, pointing to a file.

"Well, aside from the usual boring prose..." Neal started telling Peter what his analysis had yielded.

Peter listened to his partner talk, watching him with concern hidden behind interest. He knew the _thing _was still bothering him, but her could discern a new layer to this mood. Contemplative and hurt.

He hoped Neal wouldn't do anything stupid.

xxxxx

Neal's mind was working furiously. A small portion of it was on the cold case he was currently summarizing to Peter- very small. Most of it was on the events of the night before and the early morning.

He'd gone home to a quiet house and dissuaded June from inquiring after his day, simply smiling and hugging her and going up to bed.

Not that he slept much. For most of the night he tossed uneasily, torn between feeling guilty for not standing up to the insults against his friends or _relieved_ that he had not done so. If he had done anything, they would've made it out to be a horrible thing, and he and Peter would've both suffered for it.

He tried to resolve not to think about it, but his brain didn't listen. All through the night it went over the problem at hand, even once he finally fell asleep. By the time he'd woken the next morning at a rather ridiculously early hour, it had come up with several different roundabout ways to get back at them.

As he showered and ate a quick breakfast, he attempted to dismiss them, he really did, but the stinging words echoed in his mind and he finally gave in.

So an hour later, still very early, he entered the Organized Crime Division, which was thankfully still empty. Apparently there were no early risers here. Moving quietly, trying to dismiss any feelings of this being the wrong idea, he carried out his plan.

After about six minutes he walked out just as quickly as he'd come, but this time the bag was empty.

He made his way to the White Collar Crime Division and let out a breath of relief. No one he knew well was there yet. Not that he'd expected them to be. He waved to a couple of rookie agents who were drinking coffee and sat down at his desk, sliding the bag into a drawer.

"Good morning, Mr. Caffrey," one of the young agents said, walking over with an enthusiastic grin.

"Morning, Allen. And I told you to call me Neal." Neal gave the young man a friendly grin and looked down at the stack of files Peter had given him the day before. It was _oh so fun_ reading these cold case files. He knew Peter just did it to keep him busy and mentally occupied.

Trying not to feel at all resentful, he opened the first one. The two rookie agents kept chattering loudly, and Neal winced slightly as it echoed around the empty room and he waited until they went to refill their mugs.

He picked up the files and nonchalantly slid up to Peter's office. He picked the lock before trying it and stepped inside, letting out a sigh at the peaceful quiet. Sitting down in his chair rather than Peter's, he kept working until the agent came.

"Morning, Sunshine," the brown-haired FBI agent said as he walked in.

"Morning, Peter."

Peter brought up the matter of how Neal'd gotten in, as Neal knew he would, and gave a completely truthful answer: it had been unlocked when he'd tried opening it.

Once they got the customary question-and-deflection routine out of the way, Neal'd started explaining the files to Peter.

Which brought him back to the present. He sat across from the agent, attempting to keep any lingering doubts out of his mind.

He was relieved when Hughes came to them with case and they finally had something to concentrate on that was at least slightly interesting.

"So, what is it this time?" Neal asked. "Art theft? Bank heist?"

"Uh-uh." Peter shook his head. "Mortgage fraud."

Neal gave Peter a crestfallen look. "Really? Again?"

Peter cracked a grin. "Nah, high-profile art forgery."

"Peter!" Neal protested.

"Sorry," Peter said, not looking sorry at all.

"Fine." Neal rolled his eyes slightly, his tone holding slight sarcasm. "All is forgiven."

"Thanks," Peter said drily. "How could I have lived with myself otherwise."

Neal flashed him a smile. "I guess we'll never know."

Feeling a bit better, Neal followed Peter down to the Taurus.

xxxxx

"You want to ride home with me?" Peter inquired, leaning back in his chair.

"When're you leaving?" Neal asked, stifling a yawn.

"Hm... probably half an hour, forty-five minutes." Peter shrugged slightly.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Neal said with a small grin. "I'm gonna go ahead and go now, if that's okay."

"Sure, that's fine," Peter said with a nod. "Go get some rest." Peter's eyes looked slightly sympathetic. Neal generally disliked seeing that look as he was granted a request- it meant pity. This time, though, he just nodded gratefully and smiled slightly; he _was _extremely tired, and waiting another hour - because he did know Peter, and that was at least how long it would be - in the uncomfortable FBI office didn't sound appealing.

"Okay. Good night, Peter," Neal said cheerfully, thinking of his bed and pajamas.

"Night," Peter replied, turning back to his computer.

"Don't stay too long," Neal reminded him. Peter nodded absently and Neal stifled a grin. Hands in his pockets, Neal took the elevator down to the ground floor and stiffened slightly. He had that vague prickling sensation that he always got when someone was following him. Glancing around surreptitiously, he continued out of the building. With another stifled yawn, he took a few steps and hailed a cab.

"Hey," he protested as someone grabbed his arm. He found himself looking up into two pairs dark, shadowed eyes.

There was no reply as he was whisked into the nearest alley faster than he could blink.

Four dark figures sort of blended into the black walls of the alley that he was currently pressed up against.

"You're sure no one saw him?" A muffled voice demanded. It sounded vaguely familiar.

"I'm sure, Ian," an equally distorted voice said. The first black-clad figure hissed. "Oh, sorry."

"Idiot." One of the others elbowed the offender and Neal suddenly knew exactly who they were. The first man raised one fist and Neal raised one hand as far as he could with the firm hold two of the masked agents were keeping him in.

"Hey, guys," Neal said. "Can't we talk about this?"

"Shut up." The agent pinning his left side to the wall pressed harder against Neal's arm, causing him to wince slightly.

"I'll take that as a no." Neal smiled. "But there's no reason why we shouldn't. We're all rational people."

A fist made contact with his cheekbone. "He said, shut up. If you don't, I'll hit you again."

Neal evaluated his options and settled on keeping his mouth ship being the best option after all, at least for the moment.

"Now, Caffrey, you really need to learn your place here."

"I'm pretty sur-" Neal was cut off by a punch landing in his stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs and he coughed.

"Exactly what I mean. You're a criminal, we're the good guys." Neal resisted the urge to point out that they were the ones pinning _him_ against the wall and threatening him. "And since the pansies up in the White Collar Division don't seem to be doing a very good job teaching you that..." Jensen shrugged.

"We're taking care of it," the black-clad agent he suspected was Hall finished. Neal didn't at all like the sound of that. He waited a moment then moved his arms in a way that allowed him to slip out of the hold of the two men. He got about four running steps away before his arm was grabbed again. Twisting and pushing at just the right angle, he managed to make the man lose his balance and got a few steps farther before two sets of hands took hold of him. All the struggling he could manage wasn't enough to get out this time. He was shoved back against the wall and Jensen stood before him. Neal imagined he could feel the glare even through the mask.

"Lesson number one," Jensen said, voice low. "Don't walk away when you're being spoken to."

xxxxx

"Mm." Neal bit back a noise of pain as he habitually rolled over to reach for his buzzing cell phone. He lifted it off the bedside table, carefully sitting up off his ribs and reading the message.

_Meeting for the case at 9. Need a ride?_

Neal paused before responding, checking the clock. _7:07_. He thought he'd probably finally drifted off some time around four thirty or five. Stifling a yawn, he looked back at the phone. He didn't think riding in a car with Peter would go well this time.

_No thanks, I'll get a cab. See you there._ He pressed send.

_Sounds good._

Neal stood slowly and went directly to the bathroom. He turned the shower as hot as he could stand, breathing in the warm steam for a moment and grimacing slightly at his more-than-slightly bruised ribs.

With a soft sigh, he gingerly pulled on a light blue dress shirt, dark blue tie, and black suit pants, looking in the mirror to fix his hair.

Neal mentally cursed. The punch that had clipped him across the cheekbone had left a very prominent bruise. He touched it with one light finger and winced. He'd have to think of an explanation before he saw Peter.

After he'd eaten breakfast and finished getting ready, he decided that getting to the FBI offices before Peter did would definitely be a plus. He would have time to get situated, for one thing, and it would be easier to act at ease that way. Picking up a bottle of aspirin and looking at it contemplatively, he decided that this time it was better to be medicated than in pain. Reluctantly, he swallowed some with a glass of water, glancing at the clock. _8:24. Perfect._

"Bye, June," he called to her. She was sitting in the kitchen and thankfully didn't come to see him off. Somehow, he thought fooling her might be much harder than fooling Peter when it came to this.

"Goodbye, Neal, dear," she replied. "Have a good day."

"Thanks," Neal said, gritting his teeth when he bumped against the banister. "You, too."

With that, he walked out the door with falsified easiness. As he sat down in a cab, he was grateful he'd decided not to drive with Peter. Sitting at an angle so as not to brush his stomach, ribs, or arms was not easily done. The cab driver obviously didn't care, but Peter would've called Neal out in a heartbeat.

"Morning, Jones," he greeted as he walked in, flashing a grin. "How're you?"

"Morning," the agent said with a nod. "Pretty good, you?"

"Doing great," Neal said, returning the nod. He glanced up at Peter's office and thanked the heavens that the agent wasn't there yet. "I'm going to wait for Peter up there."

"Alright," Jones agreed, only half-listening. Neal repeated his actions of before. He eyed his customary chair with uncertainty. The back and the arms would press all the wrong places.

Certainly Peter wouldn't mind if he sat in the other chair until the agent got there. Well, he probably would mind, but not as much as he'd used to. Neal sank into the softer chair cautiously, leaning back and putting his feet up. The fatigue started to sink in. He'd gotten used to more sleep than he'd previously been accustomed to getting, and the lack of it combined with the lingering, sharp pain that he aspirin hadn't quite dulled, making any sort of alertness very unpleasant.

After several failed attempts at staying awake, his eyes drifted closed and his dark fedora slid over them, obscuring his view of the world.

He didn't wake up anywhere near the way he'd imagined. Something swiveled the chair away. Neal's feet fell off the desk, and his side shifted rapidly, hitting the arm of the chair hard. He barely kept the wince of pain from his face as he leaned down to pick up his fedora. It was lying next to two brown shoes.

"Good morning, Neal," Peter said. "What have I told you about breaking into my office?"

"I told you, it was unlocked when I tried it." Neal lifted the hat from the ground and dusted it, eyes still fixed on the blue, FBI-issued carpet.

"And I still don't believe you. What about sitting in my chair?"

"You weren't using it," Neal offered.

"Well, come on. We've got to go to the conference room." Neal nodded, finally looking up, and he saw confusion and concern write themselves on Peter's features.

"What happened, Neal?" The agent asked, his tone the same as his expression.

"I didn't turn the light on when I was walking to my room last night," Neal said, affecting a sheepish manner as he shrugged. "You know that painting, with the frame that sticks out? I ran into it. Knocked it right off the wall, too."

"Oh." Peter nodded slowly, digesting this and looking for discrepancies. Apparently finding none, he gave Neal's face a last careful glance. "Just be careful next time."

"Will do," Neal said, nodding. Just tell him what happened, the voice in his head prompted. But he didn't heed it. Very few people would take the word of one ex-con artist over four respectable agents of the FBI. He thought Peter might be one of the ones who would, but if he wasn't... Neal didn't know if he would be able to handle that degree of mistrust at this point. So he just kept quiet and followed Peter into the conference room. The following meeting was fairly boring and lasted a little over an hour.

A few new leads had been discovered early that morning, and Peter and Neal were dispatched to check them out. Several hours of driving, waiting, and endless stream of conversations that revealed next to nothing later, they were walking down the road from a parking lot to their best lead's house.

xxxxx

"Aren't you hot?" Peter inquired of his partner, having long ago shed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. Neal had taken off his jacket, but not made any other move to cool himself. Strange, considering the probably almost ninety degree weather.

"Hm?"

"Aren't you hot?" Peter repeated his question.

"Oh. No, I'm good," Neal said too cheerfully. Peter again involuntarily cast a glance at Neal's cheek and shook his head mentally. It didn't really _look _like the kind of bruise a picture frame would make.

"If you say so," Peter said with a shrug. They entered the building and, informing the receptionist of their identities, boarded the elevator. Peter looked at Neal.

"C'mon, you've got to be at least a little warm, just roll up your sleeves or something," Peter said jokingly, elbowing Neal in the ribs gently. Neal recoiled, grimacing slightly before hiding it. _What was that? _Peter's other hand froze before he pressed the button to go up.

"Nah, Peter, I'm fine," Neal insisted with a smile. Peter recognized that smile. It was the "just listen to what I'm saying, and pay no attention to what I'm doing" smile. Peter turned slightly, facing Neal.

"Neal," Peter said slowly, "roll up your sleeve, please."

"Peter-" Neal stopped at the look on the agent's face and kept his face blank. Peter watched as Neal unbuttoned the cuff and rolled one sleeve up, looking at a corner of the ceiling.

"What happened to you?" Peter demanded, voice stony as he saw the hand-shaped bruises on Neal's lower arm. Cold fury filled him, as it always did when people hurt those he was responsible for. Especially, though he wouldn't admit it, one Neal Caffrey. And the list of people who'd done _that_ was long.

"Nothing..." Neal trailed off and shrugged, again cowed by Peter's no-nonsense expression. "I may have made a few agents mad."

"Agents did this to you?" Sickness welled up in Peter's stomach. Yes, he knew there were plenty of bureau members like that. But seeing it displayed it front of him... It angered him. Suddenly every suppressed wince, the slower movements, the tired comments, all of it made sense.

"Yes," Neal said reluctantly, looking anywhere but at Peter.

"Who?" Peter demanded.

"I don't kn- four from the Organized Crime Division," Neal said, his voice quiet. "I think... Jensen, Hall, Rolland, and one I didn't know." Peter nodded slowly, nostrils flaring, and Neal shook his head. "But it- it was my fault, Peter, I was stupid and I let them provoke me into retaliating."

"You fought back?" Peter asked, looking concerned. "Neal, I don't know how much I can-"

"No, I didn't," Neal interrupted him. "I got away at one point, but I didn't 'land any blows' or anything like that." Peter could see tiredness in the consultant's eyes as he half-grudgingly explained. "Thursday night, the same four agents were by the elevator I was waiting for, and they were... talking. About- things. They knew I could hear them."

"Oh," Peter said, frowning. "So that's what you retaliated against."

"Yeah." Neal nodded slowly. "Nothing serious, Peter, I swear; I just set up some minor setbacks for them. But somehow they guessed it was me. It had to have been a guess, I didn't leave any evidence. And..." he shrugged slightly.

"You shouldn't have, but what's done is done." Peter paused. "I wish you would have just come to me in the first place after last night, Neal. Not tried to hide it all day." Peter's voice was gently reprimanding. Neal's shoulders stiffened slightly.

"I didn't want you to..." Neal's gaze flicked to Peter's face. And Peter read the truth in his eyes. _I didn't want you to not believe me. I wouldn't have been able to handle that, _they said.

"I believe you," Peter said. "Especially considering who you mentioned. They're hotheads, Jensen is the biggest hothead of them all."

Neal nodded slowly, relief showing in his face.

Peter smiled gently, pressing the button to finally go up to the second floor.

"We'll get these guys," Peter told Neal. "I got your back." He patted Neal's shoulder blade softly to avoid any damage.

Neal smiled quietly, gratitude joining the relief in his eyes. "Thank you, Peter."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter. In the beginning, as posted, I was planning on it being just a oneshot. But once I uploaded it, it felt sort of incomplete. A bunch of you guys agreed, so we got this. It isn't as long, but I hope you like it!_

Neal protested as Peter led him out of the building. They'd finished the interview and found one more thing they could go check, but Peter said they weren't going to. "Peter, I've waited this long, can't we just check out this last lead?"

"Nope," Peter said, holding Neal's elbow gently but firmly. "We're taking you to the clinic."

"I don't need-"

"Neal."

"Fine." Neal quietly sulked for appearances' sake, but inwardly he was grateful. He nodded to Peter slightly as they got back into the Taurus, hoping some of the gratitude showed through.

"So is there anything other than your arms and ribs?" Peter asked nonchalantly. Neal picked up a hint of concern and nodded reluctantly.

"My back, where they shoved me against the wall. That's it though."

"We'll get it checked out."

"Right..." Neal nodded slightly and looked out the window silently as they drove.

It took a while, but they got in to see a doctor. In spite of the slight difficulty Neal had breathing, it was concluded he just had severe bruising on his ribs.

"That's a relief," Neal muttered half-sarcastically as the doctor left them back in the waiting room with the directions to put ice on them and be careful not to let them get any more damaged.

"It _is_," Peter said sternly, looking a little miffed. "They could have just as easily been broken, Neal, you should consider yourself lucky your recklessness didn't get you something worse than bruises."

"I know," Neal said with a quiet nod.

Peter let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap." He shrugged very slightly. "I'm just... Never mind." Neal looked up. _Worried_. Peter's eyes couldn't hide the word from Neal. He nodded, understanding that it was hard for Peter to say something like that out loud but feeling the strange but welcome warm feeling of being cared for sweep over him.

"It's okay," Neal said with a slight smile. Peter smiled back and put one hand on Neal's shoulder.

He seemed to hesitate before speaking. "I don't want you getting too... involved with the rest of this, if we can help it. It's not safe."

"I just want to get them," Neal said. Peter looked mulish but nodded and removed his hand from Neal's shoulder getting into his car. Neal felt the absence of the grounding force sharply, but he got in as well.

"Where are we going?" Neal inquired after a moment.

"You're going to my house. El will be glad for your company." Peter hadn't seemed to mention himself.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"Back to the Headquarters."

Neal felt a flash of alarm. "Peter, you don't have t-"

Peter shook his head. "I'm going to."

"Be careful," Neal said in an impossibly quiet voice. Peter heard it anyway and nodded, brown gaze softening slightly as he did so.

"I will."

xxxxx

"Feel any better?" Elizabeth asked gently, handing Neal a glass of water.

"Yeah," he said, nodding appreciatively and suppressing a wince. He hated being fussed over, but Elizabeth's kind nature made it more bearable. Peter had stalked off almost immediately after dropping Neal off. Neal watched him go, worried.

Neal was touched; he really, truly was. But he didn't want Peter to get in trouble for trying to help him. It was as Neal had noted before. Who would take his word over theirs? Even with Peter on his side it would be less than compelling. Apparently some agents already thought Peter's judgement was _compromised._

"Thank you, El," Neal said, smiling slightly at her as she sat down next to him.

"It's no trouble," she promised, smiling back. Her eyes held worry. "I'm just glad you're alright." Anger clouded her gaze. "Four on one is just cowardly. Peter will get them, Neal, don't worry."

"I'm not," he lied. It wasn't that he didn't trust Peter, he just didn't trust the other parties involved. At all. He leaned back against the couch gingerly and sipped the water, smiling reassuringly at Elizabeth.

A few moments later, Peter walked back into the door. There was a grimly pleased air about him, and he sat down in the chair across from Neal and Elizabeth.

"How're you feeling?" He asked Neal, concern creeping into his determined brown eyes.

"Better," Neal said with a quiet, grateful look.

"So? What happened?" Elizabeth asked curiously, sounding slightly apprehensive.

"I talked to Jones and Diana," Peter said. "They want to help." Immense gratitude swept through Neal and he nodded.

"Do we have a plan?" He asked.

"We do," Peter said, almost reluctantly. "But I don't know if you'll like it."

"I trust you," Neal said. Peter nodded slowly. "So go ahead, tell me."

"Alright." Peter shook off whatever thoughts had been floating around his mind and focused on Neal. "First off, we've got to meet them out in the van..."

xxxxx

Peter shifted in the surveillance van, still not in love with the plan. He looked over at Neal, who was sitting in the back with Jones and Diana.

"You're sure you want to do this?" He asked. He studied Neal's expression, trying to guess the feelings behind the facade, and his eyes fell upon the sharp bruise. Anger flooded through him again, followed by worry. It was a bad idea, sending Neal back in. He'd not been completely sold on it himself, but they hadn't been able to come up with a better alternative. And Neal had jumped on it when he was brought up to speed. So they were going to go for it.

"Positive," Neal said firmly. Peter knew there must be traces of hesitation in there somewhere, but he couldn't detect them.

"Then good luck," Jones said sincerely.

"Thanks, Jones."

"You've got the wire switched on?" Diana asked. Neal nodded.

"Yeah. Are you getting the transmission?" He inquired, letting out a breath that betrayed nervousness.

"We're getting it," Peter confirmed. He saw Diana gently squeezed Neal's hand as she pressed a backup transmitter into it.

"You can do this," she murmured. Neal nodded again and gave them a mock salute.

"See you in a few," he said.

"Good luck," Peter called after him. The van door closed and Peter let out a breath.

"He'll be okay, boss," Jones said.

"I hope so," Peter murmured.

"I'm in the elevator," Neal said over the wire. "Here goes nothing." Peter half-wanted to just tell Neal to get out of there. More than half, if he was honest with himself. It was unlikely they'd get enough usable evidence without some further injury being dealt to his consultant. He didn't like that, not at all.

"Be careful, Caffrey," Peter muttered.

"What are you doing here?" He heard a voice he recognized as Ian Jensen's demand.

"I'm just here for a little meeting," Neal replied smoothly. Jensen cursed at him.

"You set the memo up?"

"Me? No, I got one too." Neal still sounded so calm, in spite of everything. Peter found himself gripping the arms of his chair as the confrontation continued.

"Liar," Agent Rolland said, and there was a slight thud. Peter didn't know if it had been Neal or a chair, or something else entirely. His finger dug further into the chair as he waited.

"We've been waiting here for two hours, Caffrey," Jensen said, spitting Neal's name in a way that made Peter want to throttle him more than he already had.

"That's... unfortunate," Neal replied. From the slight breathless quality to his voice, Peter guessed it hadn't been a chair that had hit the wall.

"So you still haven't learned your place, I see," Agent Hall said disdainfully.

"It's a shame," Jensen agreed. "I thought you would've from last time."

"Come on, keep going," Peter muttered.

"I guess we'll just have to beat it into you more thoroughly," the agent he'd discovered to be Bryce Weber.

"That's it. Jones, you wait here and make sure it keeps recording. Diana, you're with me."

"Alright," Diana said. There was a sudden creaking noise from the outside of the van and Peter opened the door with alarm to see a tow truck starting on it.

"Hey!" He protested, pulling out his badge. "FBI, we need to be here." He hadn't realized they'd parked in a restricted zone.

From the speakers in the corner of the van, Peter heard the agents continuing to taunt Neal, and a muffled noise of pain filtered through.

"Just leave the van there!" Peter ordered, running toward the building. Jones could take care of it. He had bigger things to worry about.

xxxxx

"What are _you_ doing here?" Agent Jensen demanded the moment Neal stepped into the conference room, all nervousness hidden safely away behind an even smile.

"I'm just here for a little meeting," Neal replied in a tone that matched his expression flawlessly. Jensen clenched one fist and swore.

"You set the memo up?"

"Me?" Neal feigned confusion. "No, I got one too." He shrugged slightly, hands in pockets carelessly.

"Liar," Agent Rolland said through gritted teeth. He shoved Neal backward against the wall and Neal collided with a thud.

"We've been waiting here for two hours, Caffrey," Jensen hissed dangerously.

"That's... unfortunate," Neal replied, trying to remain unruffled in spite of the increasingly sharp pain in his ribs.

"So you still haven't learned your place, I see," Agent Hall said, narrowing his eyes.

"It's a shame," Jensen agreed, taking a slow step forward. "I thought you would've from last time."

"I guess we'll just have to beat it into you more thoroughly." The man Peter had told Neal was Agent Weber stepped forward and Neal clenched his teeth slightly.

_Alright, that should be what Peter needs. He should get up here any minute._

But Peter didn't come still as Neal was pinned to the wall again. As he struggled slightly, he unhappily noted that they'd compensated to prevent any escapes.

"You should've stayed up with your _non-violent crimes_ friends," Weber said, eyes flashing. A fist sank into his stomach and he winced as the pain reverberated back into his previous injuries.

_Peter is coming._ The mantra was repeated in his head over the next agonizingly slow moments. _Peter is coming._

Finally, just as Jensen lifted a clenched fist to hit Neal again, the door burst open.

"Stop right there," Peter said, gun out. Relief poured through Neal as the four agents stepped back from him. With their hands no longer holding him forcibly up, he sank down slightly against the wall, breathing irregular.

Diana came in a few seconds behind Peter, looking furious.

"You four are under arrest for assault charges against a member of the bureau," Peter said, pulling out his cuffs.

"He's a consultant," Hall protested with open mockery.

"He's our consultant," Peter said icily, glancing at Diana. She nodded.

"NYPD is on their way," she murmured. Within a few minutes there were several cops in the room, cuffing the remaining two agents and escorting them down to waiting patrol cars, Diana following along to make sure it went smoothly. Neal pushed himself away from the wall.

"Did you get enough?" He quietly inquired of Peter, his hands shaking slightly as he put them in his pockets to hide it. His ribs were on fire, and his arms were an unpleasant mix of numbness and pain. Not to mention his cheekbone and back. But he just gave a smile, which he hoped was only slightly strained. Peter nodded.

"Yeah, we got enough." There was a split second of silence, then Peter wrapped one arm gently around Neal's shoulder and gave him a steadying, sideways hug. Neal felt the sensation of being grounded again, of being safe. His breathing evened out slightly and he glanced up at Peter.

"Thank you for doing this," he said sincerely. Peter nodded, eyes holding a mix of accomplishment and concern.

"I'm just sorry I had to put you at risk again to accomplish it." The sideways hug shifted into Peter supporting Neal discreetly as they walked. Neal was grateful for it in spite of his need to feel independent. The pain and lingering tiredness didn't help with coordination.

"I knew you would come in time, though," Neal said.

"I almost didn't," Peter countered.

"The almost doesn't matter." Neal shrugged slightly. He winced as he sat down in the front seat of the surveillance van, which, for some reason, had been moved forward roughly a dozen feet.

"Hm." Peter eyed Neal critically and Neal turned on the pleading charm.

"I'm alright, Peter, I just need rest," Neal said with a smile, knowing Peter was contemplating the doctor.

"Okay," Peter said reluctantly. Then he raised an eyebrow. "But from now on, keep your pranks contained in the White Collar Unit only. The other divisions don't have the same gracious sense of humor we do."

Neal laughed genuinely for the first time in over twenty-four hours. "That I can do."


End file.
